


His Ghost In The Fog

by thesweetpianowritingdownmylife



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Character Turned Into a Ghost, F/M, Ghosts, Gore, M/M, Major Character IS Dead, Medieval Torture Device, The Cell (2000) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 16:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5011111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesweetpianowritingdownmylife/pseuds/thesweetpianowritingdownmylife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wesley had always known that he would be taking care of Fisk until the day he died.</p>
<p>He didn't expect to continue the job after that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Ghost In The Fog

**Author's Note:**

> The gore, body horror, medieval torture device, graphic violence, etc it's only on the first chapter. 
> 
> References to the movie The Cell.
> 
> Title from the Craddle of Filth song "Her Ghost In The Fog".
> 
> In this world, there are ghosts, and certain people can see them. They can reveal themselves and even touch people who are close to death (the Witchblade live-action tv show served as an inspiration for this). They also can infiltrate people's dreams and control them.
> 
> I haven't written anything else so far, but I have the outline of the story I want to tell. I decided to upload the first chapter so people would guilt me into continuing through reviews, otherwise it would have just sat on my drafts forever like the other 5 started Fiskley fics that I have.
> 
> Happy Halloween month!

Jack clenched and unclenched his fist, wincing only slightly. He probably hadn’t fractured anything, but it still hurt like a bitch. Punching that man had been akin to trying to punch a mountain; even though the struggle had seemed uneven from an outsider’s perspective - five against one were not exactly equal odds - the man had given them one hell of a fight. He had a lot of stamina and almost superhuman strength. At one point, he had taken hold of one of his attackers and crushed several of his ribs. 

_What kind of person tries to hug someone to death?_  Jack asked himself. 

In the end, though, they had worn him down. They had been kicking him where he lay, panting, on the floor, for quite a long time until the prison guards had deemed it fit to intervene. It was almost sad, how the high and mighty kingpin seemed to have no friends left, not amongst the other prisoners nor with the guards he used to have on his payroll.  
Jack lay down on his right side, because the left was badly bruised, but not enough to warrant a visit to the infirmary. The familiar aches of a good fight didn’t stop him from falling asleep quickly.

Suddenly he found himself in a vast hall, with no doors nor windows, at the bottom of some stairs that lead up to a man sitting on a throne. The walls were covered in purple silk connected through eight metal rings to the man’s back, giving him the appearance of an angelic being with magnificent wings. The man was naked from the torso up, pale as a ghost, and was proportioned strangely; he was taller than a normal human, almost gigantic, and extraordinarily corpulent. There was a fierce expression on his face, murderous and terrifying.

The moment the man looked down to him, Jack recognized him; he was a deformed version of the man he had been beating up that same day. And from the way a slow, threatening smile was blossoming on his face, he was planning on taking some bloody retribution.

The man stood, dragging the purple robes behind him, and descended towards him, making Jack try to step back, but he found himself unable to escape; a slimy substance had stuck to his shoes, gluing him to the spot. He attempted to free himself with increasing unease as the man drew closer, but he couldn’t unstuck his shoes and it was impossible to remove them from his feet. He resigned himself to fight the monstrosity, but something told him that in this silent hall, the other man had all the power, and there would be no way to walk away unscathed. 

Another man had appeared by his side. He was wearing a suit and glasses, and was proportioned like a normal human, but something about him was unsettling. Maybe it was in the way that he was smiling, calmly and with just a hint of smugness, but behind this thin veneer Jack could see a thirst for blood, and he had no doubts about who would satisfy it. Moreover, the giant seemed dangerous, but his movements had an automatic quality to them, as if he was being pulled by strings. It was clear that the man in glasses was in control of everything that was happening in the room.

“Nice to meet you again, Mr. Wallis.” The second man said as he pushed at his chest violently. Jack finally placed him; he was the other man’s assistant, the one who often dealt with the most unsavory business in place of his employer. The kingpin was known for his uncontrollable bouts of rage at the end of which that nobody would like to be, but if their organization ever needed to handle things with a touch more of grace, he was the one to talk, convince, or in most cases torture their desired results out of the other party.

Jack’s feet became unstuck magically as he fell backwards onto a table. When he tried to stand up, he found that his arms and legs were chained in place, and there was a thin metal bar with some spikes above his stomach held in place by two seahorse figurines. The man in glasses, who was standing on his right, showed him a sharp knife and a sharper smile. Since all his attempts to break free had been unfruitful, he protested by yelling obscenities and curses, but he could barely hear his own voice; it was as if he had cotton balls in his ears, but he could hear every other sound with crystal clarity, only his voice was muffled.

The assistant laughed. “Now now, there’s no need to make such a fuss.” He rested the knife’s pointy end on Jack’s belly. “I’d say there’s nothing to worry about, but I’d be lying.” The knife pressed against his skin, no matter how much Jack was trying to suck in his belly, and a drop of blood came out. “It’s only that you’ll wear yourself out pointlessly. Nobody is going to hear you.”

Jack tried to plead with them, terror finally getting hold of him, heart pounding against his chest. With a seemingly effortless flick of his wrist, the man with the glasses sunk the blade and made a neat cut. The bloodcurdling scream that Jack let out sounded like a whisper to his own ears, but it made the two men smile wider.

The former kingpin, who, until this point, had remained an uninvolved observant, put two of his fingers in the bleeding wound and pulled out an intestine. The man with the glasses severed it in half and the other pulled one of the ends until he could pierce it in one of the spikes of the metal bar. Then he started making the bar twist with a crank handle so that the intestine would curl around it.

Jack was in agony. Not even being hit by a car had hurt this badly. It didn’t even occur to him that he might be dreaming, because everything felt intimately, painfully real, it went on forever and he was unable to wake up. His pulse ratcheted up an up, becoming irregular due to the massive amounts of adrenaline in his system, his body overstressed by terror and ungodly pain.

The nightmarish form of the kingpin laughed an almost musical giggle. His assistant smiled indulgently at him, a momentarily fond look in his eyes, and caressed his cheek with the hand that wasn’t holding the knife.

Jack’s heart, overtaxed, stopped.

As blood no longer pumped through his veins, the dream started to lose brightness, shapes blurred and merged, and Jack woke up just in time to enjoy the last moments of his life.

The man with the glasses was standing next to his bed in his cell. He covered Jack’s mouth with his hand, stopping any attempt to call for help, and smirked.

Two minutes later, he was dead.


End file.
